Sir Kalan's blade
The trail wound around trees, up hills and down vales. She was surrounded by trees. Evergreen branches hung low, burdened by the weight of the snow. The breaks of brilliant green in the wash of white were refreshing. Kalan had heard people describe the tall bare branches of other trees as sinister clawed hands. She disagreed. They were somber, quiet, gloomy, but she thought they were serene with a sprinkling of snow as a decoration.
The sky grew gray. Shadows obscured the path. It was getting hard to walk. Finally, the lights from town became visible.
Kalan sought out a modest inn. The Silver Snow looked simple, but clean.
“Hello,” Kalan said to the man behind the bar. “I’d like a room for the night.”
“Very good. Your name,” the man said, putting a sign-in book on the counter for her.
There wasn’t much to fill in, it didn’t take long.
“You traveling alone, sweetie?” an armed man asked, approaching her.
Kalan glanced briefly at him. Sword, very simple. Height, about the same as her. Muscle, not well-defined. He was alone. He wasn’t a threat, she determined.
“I’m a knight and for a reasonable price I’ll escort you on your way,” he offered.
Kalan chuckled. “You’re no knight. You’re not wearing order colours.”
“I freelance,” he casually remarked.
“But more importantly your sword is untouched,” she said, pointing to the blade at the man’s side.
He looked at his weapon in confusion. She smiled. He didn’t even know about the touching ceremony.
“When one is knighted, their name is magically engraved on the blade,” Kalan explained.
“Ah, Kalan” the bartender interrupted, handing her a key. “Your room is upstairs, middle of the hall.”
Kalan smiled and nodded.
“And how do you know all about knights, Miss Kalan? Was your father one?” the phony knight asked.
Kalan shook her head, trying to contain a smirk. She was going to have fun with this. She drew aside her order cloak. She had hung her sword around her black coat to make it easily accessible. She drew the blade far enough out to see her name engraved above the hilt. “You can call me ‘Sir Kalan’.”
The man stumbled as if he’d been slapped. Kalan headed towards the stairs.
“I’ll be down in a minute for dinner,” she informed the bartender.
Edited for consci_fan_mo
The sky grew gray. Shadows obscured the path. It was getting hard to walk. Finally, the lights from town became visible.
Kalan sought out a modest inn. The Silver Snow looked simple, but clean.
“Hello,” Kalan said to the man behind the bar. “I’d like a room for the night.”
“Very good. Your name,” the man said, putting a sign-in book on the counter for her.
There wasn’t much to fill in, it didn’t take long.
“You traveling alone, sweetie?” an armed man asked, approaching her.
Kalan glanced briefly at him. Sword, very simple. Height, about the same as her. Muscle, not well-defined. He was alone. He wasn’t a threat, she determined.
“I’m a knight and for a reasonable price I’ll escort you on your way,” he offered.
Kalan chuckled. “You’re no knight. You’re not wearing order colours.”
“I freelance,” he casually remarked.
“But more importantly your sword is untouched,” she said, pointing to the blade at the man’s side.
He looked at his weapon in confusion. She smiled. He didn’t even know about the touching ceremony.
“When one is knighted, their name is magically engraved on the blade,” Kalan explained.
“Ah, Kalan” the bartender interrupted, handing her a key. “Your room is upstairs, middle of the hall.”
Kalan smiled and nodded.
“And how do you know all about knights, Miss Kalan? Was your father one?” the phony knight asked.
Kalan shook her head, trying to contain a smirk. She was going to have fun with this. She drew aside her order cloak. She had hung her sword around her black coat to make it easily accessible. She drew the blade far enough out to see her name engraved above the hilt. “You can call me ‘Sir Kalan’.”
The man stumbled as if he’d been slapped. Kalan headed towards the stairs.
“I’ll be down in a minute for dinner,” she informed the bartender.
Edited for consci_fan_mo